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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22731364">Until Tomorrow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternalSurvivor/pseuds/EternalSurvivor'>EternalSurvivor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Naruto Rare Pairs [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Naruto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Attraction, Hokage Hatake Kakashi, Ink, M/M, Moving Tattoo(s), Pining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:13:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,543</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22731364</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternalSurvivor/pseuds/EternalSurvivor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sai hasn't used a living canvas in years. That is, until Kakashi puts in a personal request.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hatake Kakashi/Sai</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Naruto Rare Pairs [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1417702</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>128</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Until Tomorrow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeoOtherLands/gifts">LeoOtherLands</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a birthday present for the most wonderful, kind-hearted friend in the world. LeoOtherlands, you mean the world to me. I am blessed to have your support, your writing brilliance, and your genuine affection in my life every day. This little story, with one of you amazingly perplexing rare pairs, is something I hope you genuinely enjoy. It is unlike anything I've ever written before. Most definitely it wouldn't exist without you. </p><p>I also made you <a href="https://youtu.be/JCtMNIjuENs">a little birthday video</a> I hope you like. </p><p>The artwork in this story was made by the amazing Oriental-Lady over on DeviantArt. It (along with their other drawings) can be found <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/oriental-lady/art/Drawing-dragon-443778580">here</a>.</p><p>So Happy Birthday Leo! We'll make this one to remember, Darling.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The habit extended well into his past. Beyond the memories of Team 7 and ROOT, back to those fleeting days with Shin. Locked away from the sun, in the cold isolation of their small world, all he’d know was ink and his elder brother’s patient affection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When his chest ached with emptiness, Shin encouraged him to create. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shin’s body was his favourite (and sometimes only) canvas. Black, chakra-laced ink swirled across his brother’s skin in a child’s unsteady hand. It started on his back, hidden precariously away beneath dark clothes. Their precious secret. An intimacy shared between brothers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shin told stories and he brought them to life -contorting and dancing across his brother’s flesh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t good with words. He couldn’t put them to voice or to paper. So he communicated the way he knew best - with ink, with art. All the love he held for Shin went into each flick of his brush over scarred skin until no inch remained uncovered. Each creation blended into the next, danced across the living canvas with chakra-resurrected life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An amalgamation of their treasured bond, more intimate than his unfinished picture book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Shin died and with him the small light in his life. Bits of it returned with Team 7. Small flecks of sunlight cracking through the years of deeply repressed emotion. With those fissures came grief for the brother he never had a chance to mourn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His team was… confounding, confusing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>perplexing.</span>
  </em>
  <span> As much so as the codename they insistently referred to him by: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sai.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He didn’t understand the dynamics between them, their motivations or stubborn determination. Yet, he found himself wrapped up in it and swept along with the bonds his teammates protected so dearly. Somehow, someway, without him exactly noticing when, he grew to cherish those fools as precious comrades and mentors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Light broke into his life more and more, crumbling the walls forcibly erected by his conditioning. He found footing in Naruto’s brash determination, Sakura’s abrasive care, Yamato’s firm guidance and Kakashi’s aloof leadership. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched the latter now. A silent observer on the periphery of the Rokudaime Hokage’s private training grounds. Two years since the war ended. Losses were mourned, villages rebuilt, people moved on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sai remained stagnant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The invitation to rejoin ANBU (the normal forces working directly under their new Hokage) still weighed on the back of his mind. Was turning the offer down the best decision? He remained, as always, Konoha’s faithful servant. What else was a handy tool to do with his life? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>ANBU or not, he often worked shifts as part of the Hokage’s Guard Platoon. Mosty shifts like this -in the quiet downtime Kakashi rarely received. His Hokage seemed to appreciate a silent, though not entirely inconspicuous, companion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>… Perhaps a friend? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They held little in common outside their time behind the mask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sweat glistened across bare skin, illuminating Kakashi in an otherworldly glow. Summer left the air humid and stifling, even when the sun went down. His own simple muscle shirt stuck uncomfortably damp to his back and chest. A man of diligent discipline, Kakashi moved fluidly through katas without complaint. Toned muscles flexed, working with a fluid ease that spoke of familiarity. Kakashi’s black hakama rode low on his hips and flared at the ankle with each skilled step. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Comfortable. </span>
  <span>Predictable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How many years had the Hokage dedicated to those kata sets? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ink dripped with a light splatter to the half-finished sketch cradled in his lap. Dark brows furrowed lightly, Sai cleared the mar with a light flick of chakra. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never seen you draw a dragon before. It’s quite lovely.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blinking, Sai looked up to find himself face-to-face with the Rokudaime Hokage. Leaned intimately over his shoulder, Kakashi studied the amphiptere sketch he’d just begun to detail. Had he gotten lost in thought? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That… wasn’t like him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sai’s lips quirked into a smile almost automatically. Some days it was more genuine than others. Learning curves steepened and tapered over time. Emotions were complicated and people even more so. “You have my thanks, Kakashi-sama.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mah, drop the </span>
  <em>
    <span>sama </span>
  </em>
  <span>please, Sai.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, Taichou.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A resigned sigh sounded from behind him. Warm breath tickled Sai’s nape, sending tingles down his spine. “I suppose that’s better.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Humming in response, Sai returned to his picture. Work on the detailed scales required unwavering concentration. Chakra could be used to clear mistakes only a few scarce times before the lingering chakral residue damaged the paper. His hand moved automatically with years of skill built into muscle memory. A flick of wrist here, a twist of fingers there. Getting lost in his craft grew easier with time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you ink that on me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The innocently-laced edge to Kakashi's query did little to soften the blow. Caught off guard by his new Hokage once again, Sai craned his neck back to meet the older man eye-to-eye. Faces mere inches apart, noses almost bumping. Something heavy rolled through his stomach. What it was or what caused it, Sai couldn’t tell. “You want to be my canvas.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kakashi’s eye smile gave positive affirmation though spoke no reason to the sudden and seemingly random request. It was as unpredictably fickle as the man himself. No matter, a request from his Hokage would be fulfilled to the best of his abilities. Using a bit of chakra to dry the sketch, Sai rolled up the scroll he’d spent the better part of an hour working on. He tucked the scroll into his weapons’ pouch, silently tugged at his collar to unstick the damp cotton from his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not take it off if you’re hot?” Kakashi motioned to the shirt with a nod of his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sai’s fingers curled into the fabric. “That is inappropriate for a shinobi on duty.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both silver brows rose. Sai found his attention shifting towards the scar that cut so neatly down the right side of if the Rokudaime's face. It still felt surreal to see Kakashi with two grey eyes. “You’re not here because I need protection, Sai.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Then why did you request me?</span>
  </em>
  <span> The question flew through Sai’s mind before getting tucked behind his professional mask. It didn’t matter why he was here. As a loyal shinobi of Konoha, it was his duty to carry out whatever assignment his Hokage presented him with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if he couldn’t logic out the reasoning behind it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sai shed the damp shirt, letting it drop to the grass at his side. “Hold out your arms please, Taichou.” Chakra ebbed pleasantly from his fingertips as he let it flow into the brush and inkwell. The sensation was as familiar as breathing. Waiting silently, Sai let Kakashi arrange himself into a comfortable position. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Rokudaime Hokage tucked his hands into the folds of his hakama, shoulders slouching in his usual nonchalant stance. Sai’s smile hardened unnaturally. Kakashi Hatake liked testing peoples’ patience in whatever small ways he could. In the four years he’d known the man, Sai couldn’t recall feeling irked by this particular personality quirk before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Food for thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a double eye-smile, Kakashi presented his back to Sai. For the first time in almost a decade, his brush curved across a living canvas. The design bled from the brush in rapid ease. Black on pale skin marred with dozens upon dozens of scars. Each flick and swirl of chakra-infused ink imbued life into his creation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The creature rippled across Kakashi’s skin as magnificently and beautifully deadly as the man who requested it. The serpentine body twined from waist to chest, wings stretching along the Hokage’s arms. Turning to face him, Kakashi withdrew a hand and flexed it in a graceful curve. Smouldering grey eyes watched the dragon’s front claws close at his wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Avaricious, almost possessive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sai’s smile faltered, his brush stilled. Soft bristles and wet ink slid along Kakashi’s pulse point. Their eyes locked. He couldn’t look away. The dragon’s maw settled at the older man’s collarbone, laid out directly over Kakashi’s heart. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Heart pounding in his ears, Sai swallowed thickly. Some emotion he couldn’t quite place flipped his stomach. This wasn’t the same as inking his brother. It was more intense, more… </span>
  <em>
    <span>intimate. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His mouth opened and closed, working uselessly. Words evaded him. What was he to say anyway? Sai didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>-he couldn’t-</span>
  </em>
  <span> understand what suddenly changed between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Rokudaime Hokage wore his ink, </span>
  <em>
    <span>his chakra, </span>
  </em>
  <span>like a spoil of war. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nimble fingers carded through his hair. That one touch ignited a fire inside Sai. It burned through his entire being, flushing his skin an ashy rose. Kakashi’s touch lingered at his nape, calloused fingers curling against feverish skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sai’s breathing faltered. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kakashi’s mask was gone. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Every bit of pale skin from hairline to waistband was laid bare before him. The horizontal facial scar carried his eyes down the Hokage’s face, gracefully shifting his attention to the black beauty mark and finally Kakashi’s astonishingly comely mouth. “Thanks, Sai.” Mere inches from him, those captivating lips twisted into a brief, crooked smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Incredulous reverence rooted Sai to the spot long after Kakashi left. His nape tingled a ghosty impression of fingers on his skin. The heat remained in his gut, sizzling embers primed to reignite. With unsure hands, he tucked the inkwell and brush away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Until tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
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